


what new mystery is this

by ipreferaviators



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-29
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipreferaviators/pseuds/ipreferaviators
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not like that," Ryan says finally. It's not a new thought. He says it to himself at least three times a day, sometimes more. But he's never said it loud before. It feels strange, wrong somehow, in his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what new mystery is this

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to la_dissonance for the beta (and title)! Title from mewithoutyou's "A Glass Can Only Spill What It Contains."

In the end, it's almost easy, and it’s all thanks to Jon Walker.

"Wait, but," Jon says from his spot by the tv. Ryan's sprawled out on the sofa, lamenting his lack of regular sex, while Brendon and Spencer lean against the couch and each other.

"But what?" Brendon asks when Jon stops.

"It's just," he says, looking confused. "I thought you were together."

"We are," Spencer says, reaching out to grab Brendon's hand. Ryan ignores the familiar cutting sensation in his chest. He's gotten pretty good at ignoring it by now.

"No, but," Jon shakes his head, the movement slow and methodical from the weed. "I thought you were _all_ together. The three of you."

Ryan nearly chokes on his beer.

(He drinks now. He didn't, at first, even after the contract and album and tour and fans. He started after a few months, thinking it might make things better. Easier; less cold. It doesn't. But sometimes it makes him feel less like the accident and more like the bystander, so he keeps doing it.)

There's a long silence. Too long, Ryan thinks. He doesn't look at Brendon or Spencer, focusing on the the fan spinning slowly above his head.

"It's not like that," Ryan says finally. It's not a new thought. He says it to himself at least three times a day, sometimes more. But he's never said it loud before. It feels strange, wrong somehow, in his mouth.

"Sometimes I wish it was," Spencer whispers, and it's so soft that Ryan knows no one was meant to hear it. Spencer probably doesn't even realise he's said it out loud, but he has, and the room goes still.

"Spencer," Brendon says, low and sad. Ryan wants to cry. They can’t break up now. Not like this, not over him. Not after everything.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan hears Spencer say, and his voice breaks on the phrase. Ryan needs to get up, walk away, take off into the forest behind the cabin and lose himself in the trees and rocks and words he’ll never say.

“No, I,” Brendon says, and his voice is louder now, more urgent. “I just mean. Me too.”

Ryan can’t stop the sound he makes. He knows it sounds awful, half gasp and half sob and completely broken. He squeezes his eyes shut, imagines himself far away, on a stage somewhere, playing his-- _their_ \--songs for a crowd of fans, all singing along, and he tries to breathe.

He feels a hand tighten around his wrist, Spencer’s hand, but he doesn’t look. He keeps breathing, keeps trying not to let everything that he shoved away and tried to forget burst out into the open all at once.

He doesn’t answer when Brendon starts saying his name, doesn’t answer when he feels guitar-calloused stroke his other hand. Doesn’t respond when Spencer’s voice murmurs close to his ear, quiet and so full of _want_ that Ryan thinks he might explode.

“Do you want it, Ryan?”

“He wants it,” Jon says instead, clear and calm from across the room. Ryan does open his eyes then, looks over at Jon to find him looking back. Jon looks peaceful, pleased, and a little like he’s going to hide all the weed if Ryan fucks this up. He nods, once, then stands up and leaves quietly, closing the door behind him.

“Do you want it, Ryan?” Spencer repeats, his grip tightening. Ryan gasps again.

“Yes,” he manages to breathe out. “Fuck, yes, I always have.”

He closes his eyes again, not willing to see Brendon and Spencer’s reactions to his admission. He doesn’t want them to know how long he’s wanted this, how long he’s dreamed and fantasized and pretended and hoped and driven himself into a tailspin of anger and loneliness. He’s already so broken in their eyes; he can’t stand the idea of making it worse.

“Fuck,” Brendon says, and Ryan feels the couch cushions shift an instant before Brendon’s weight settles over Ryan’s legs. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Ryan shakes his head, hoping they’ll understand. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything to hurt them, to jeopardize their relationship. Brendon and Spencer are the perfect couple. Ryan would only ruin them.

“You knew I wanted you,” Spencer says, and it sounds like he had to force himself to say it. Ryan doesn’t blame him; no one wants to tell their boyfriend that there was a time, once, when they almost cheated on him. It was just a chaste kiss, right before a show, Ryan wound up and Spencer wound down and everything perfect. Except that Spencer and Brendon had just figured things out, just started trying to have a real relationship, and neither Ryan nor Spencer could do anything more. Ryan cried for the first time in years, that night. He hated the universe for letting him get so close to what he’d wanted for most of his life, but not letting him have it.

“And you knew that I wanted you, too,” Brendon says softly. Ryan chokes back a noise of surprise. He didn’t know Brendon even remembered that. He’d been so drunk (they’d both been drunk, but Ryan couldn’t forget even if he tried. And he had tried), and Spencer had been gone, and Ryan couldn’t help but lean in when Brendon had started stroking his hair. They were too drunk to actually have sex (a fact which renewed Ryan’s faith in the universe, when he let himself think about it at all), but there had been a lot fewer clothes than a guy in a committed relationship should be having with someone else.

“If you knew,” Spencer asks, and Ryan can tell that he’s looking at Brendon now, probably saying something with his eyes and eyebrows that Ryan probably wouldn’t understand anyway. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Ryan finally looks at them. Spencer looks legitimately curious, and Brendon is almost pouting. Ryan would laugh, if he weren’t so close to throwing up.

“I knew each of you wanted me second best,” he says softly. “But I didn’t know if together you wanted me at all.”

There’s a pause, and then Spencer looks furious. He looks like he did when Brendon got hit with the bottle, when Ryan came over after a particularly bad night at home, when Brent didn’t show up for the fifth time. Ryan instinctively tries to pull back, but Spencer’s still got a hand around his wrist and doesn’t let go.

Brendon, for his part, looks miserable. Ryan has the sudden urge to go buy macaroni and ramen noodles and an extra pillow, because Brendon’s face hasn’t looked this sad since he was living on his own and just trying to get from one day to the next. Ryan feels like an asshole, and he doesn’t know why.

“Not you,” Spencer growls, and Ryan stares at him. Spencer looks away, visibly trying to calm himself down, before looking back. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay,” Ryan says, nodding. He still doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he trusts Spencer to be telling the truth.

“Fuck, Ryan,” Brendon says, his voice thick. “I never thought--I didn’t realize. I’m so fucking sorry, so so fucking sorry.”

Ryan feels the tears start to form at the corners of his eyes, and he tries to keep his eyes open long enough for the moisture to reabsorb. He doesn’t want them to see him cry.

“Me too,” Spencer says. “I’m fucking pissed at myself, but I am really fucking sorry. You have never been second-best. You’re _Ryan_.”

Ryan doesn’t know what that means, but the way Spencer leans forward and presses his mouth against Ryan’s is a little clearer. Ryan feels himself moan into it, feels his hands let go of their hold on the couch and wrap themselves around the back of Spencer’s neck, pulling him in and holding him close. Spencer deepens the kiss, just for a moment, his lips parting and tongue darting out to lick a wet line across Ryan’s bottom lip, before he pulls away.

“You’re _Ryan_ ,” he says again, and Ryan thinks he might understand.

“My turn,” Brendon says loudly, and this time Ryan does laugh. He laughs hard, his body curling up into itself with each release of air, and he feels a few tears spill out over his cheeks.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Ryan Ross,” Brendon says, and he’s moved up the couch until his face is only a few inches away from Ryan’s and he’s practically sitting in Ryan’s lap. “God.”

And then Brendon is kissing him, too, hard and fast and wet and Ryan just tries to keep up, tries not to let Brendon overwhelm him. When Brendon coaxes Ryan’s tongue into his mouth and starts sucking on it, though, Ryan gives up. He can feel his hands shaking in Brendon’s hair, feel Spencer sliding onto the couch behind him, and he stops trying to ignore, or forget, or pretend. He leans back into Spencer and pulls Brendon down with him, and he just lets go.


End file.
